I can only think of one word to describe how I feel right now.
Agony.
On May 1st, 2018 I wrote in a notebook: A new month. I feel like the boys are gone with April and I have another year until I can really grieve again.
My body must have been waiting. Tomorrow is April 1st and I feel it all. I haven't cried in months. I talk about the boys regularly and I do not cry for them or for me. I surprise myself in the way I tell their story, our story, without my eyes even welling. I cried for the first time today in a very long time. I hid my face from Jamey, not wanting him to see the deep sorrow I feel.
I want to pretend it's not there. That I'm not sad. I don't want to cry for my boys.
My body fights me on this and forces me to feel every feeling. I'm afraid the feelings will swallow me whole. And some days I'd be fine if they did.
I don't know what I want. I want to be near to people and I want nothing to do with them. I want to be coddled and held and I don't want to be touched or looked at. I want to be understood; knowing that only a handful of people ever could. I want to stop the world from spinning and I want it to speed up to the moment my family is reunited.
I want all four of my children to outlive me, and I know that's an impossibility.
I want it all and I want nothing. April is going to be difficult.
The physical pain of the first night and second day in the hospital with Gabriel is nothing compared to the second night of emotions.
Jamey heads to my parents' house to be with Mira and Edward that second evening. Having been up and walking around a bit during the day, he feels more comfortable with leaving me to go be with them. They need you Jamey. I'll be fine.
It's my Mom's turn to stay with me that night. I ask to hold Gabriel and the minute he's in my arms, I come to a horrifying realization.
He's starting to decompose.
His neck is filled with fluid. I'm afraid if I touch him that he'll fall apart. I imagine handing a broken baby back to nurses, asking them to put him back together. Our time is over and I know it. I don't know what to do.
We call the nurses in and they tell me the ice is not doing enough to keep his body preserved. I call Jamey to tell him that he needs to come back to the hospital and be ready to say goodbye to his son. I don't know how much time we have left with Gabriel, I sob. I know I'm not ready; I'll never be. Ever.
Jamey rushes back to the hospital and we begin taking as many pictures as we can. I can't see through the tears. I can't breathe through my nose. I'm angry that I had requested to take more pictures earlier in the day and no one would help me. Now it's night, the lighting is terrible, and I'm covered in snot.
This is not at all what I'd imagined our time would be like. I hold his little body close to mine and kiss him over and over. What can we do to have just a little more time with him?
A suggestion is made and I carry our little boy down the hall. My eyes are swollen as I place him in a basin lined with hospital baby blankets. The nurses carefully put his basin in a refrigerator as I watch through a tiny glass window in the door.
I want my heart to stop beating.
I'm given Ambien and Percocet when I get back to my room. I've never felt so alone.
My nurse comes in as the Ambien starts to take effect. Kaila, we have another room if you'd like. Down the hall where it's quieter. Would you like to see it?
Yes. I need to be somewhere else.
The walk to my new room is slow, but when I get there I sit on the couch and cry as Jamey and the nurses begin to move my things. Sleep sets in as I sit there. I feel as if I've been sitting alone in this new room for an hour when a hand is placed on my shoulder. Jamey later tells me it was only minutes to move everything. Kaila, would you like to get into bed?
I nod.
Everything goes dark.
Adrenaline hits me at 3am. I am in so much pain, soaked in sweat and shivering.
Where am I?
I keep forgetting. I can't believe I keep forgetting.
Jamey is asleep on a small bed next to me. I try to call out his name but he doesn't answer. I push the call button for my nurse and ask for more pain medication. Anything to dull the pain, please. Whatever you can give me.
She comes in and my teeth are chattering to the point it hurts. I'm shaking uncontrollably. I feel warm blankets being piled on me. It helps a little.
And then arms are around me. Holding me. I'm being held by a stranger in the middle of the night.
It's exactly what I need.
Later I am told, You were scared, shaking, and in pain. Bonnie wanted to calm you. You didn't know where you were because we had moved you, so she hugged you to calm you and remind you where you were.
There was no medication to ease the emotional pain that night. No chemical that could make me feel safe and secure. Her embrace did what nothing else could. I don't know how long it lasted and I don't remember falling back asleep.
I do remember waking up the next morning and asking,
Who held me?
I wanted to thank her.
Agony.
On May 1st, 2018 I wrote in a notebook: A new month. I feel like the boys are gone with April and I have another year until I can really grieve again.
My body must have been waiting. Tomorrow is April 1st and I feel it all. I haven't cried in months. I talk about the boys regularly and I do not cry for them or for me. I surprise myself in the way I tell their story, our story, without my eyes even welling. I cried for the first time today in a very long time. I hid my face from Jamey, not wanting him to see the deep sorrow I feel.
I want to pretend it's not there. That I'm not sad. I don't want to cry for my boys.
My body fights me on this and forces me to feel every feeling. I'm afraid the feelings will swallow me whole. And some days I'd be fine if they did.
I don't know what I want. I want to be near to people and I want nothing to do with them. I want to be coddled and held and I don't want to be touched or looked at. I want to be understood; knowing that only a handful of people ever could. I want to stop the world from spinning and I want it to speed up to the moment my family is reunited.
I want all four of my children to outlive me, and I know that's an impossibility.
I want it all and I want nothing. April is going to be difficult.
The physical pain of the first night and second day in the hospital with Gabriel is nothing compared to the second night of emotions.
Jamey heads to my parents' house to be with Mira and Edward that second evening. Having been up and walking around a bit during the day, he feels more comfortable with leaving me to go be with them. They need you Jamey. I'll be fine.
It's my Mom's turn to stay with me that night. I ask to hold Gabriel and the minute he's in my arms, I come to a horrifying realization.
He's starting to decompose.
His neck is filled with fluid. I'm afraid if I touch him that he'll fall apart. I imagine handing a broken baby back to nurses, asking them to put him back together. Our time is over and I know it. I don't know what to do.
We call the nurses in and they tell me the ice is not doing enough to keep his body preserved. I call Jamey to tell him that he needs to come back to the hospital and be ready to say goodbye to his son. I don't know how much time we have left with Gabriel, I sob. I know I'm not ready; I'll never be. Ever.
Jamey rushes back to the hospital and we begin taking as many pictures as we can. I can't see through the tears. I can't breathe through my nose. I'm angry that I had requested to take more pictures earlier in the day and no one would help me. Now it's night, the lighting is terrible, and I'm covered in snot.
This is not at all what I'd imagined our time would be like. I hold his little body close to mine and kiss him over and over. What can we do to have just a little more time with him?
A suggestion is made and I carry our little boy down the hall. My eyes are swollen as I place him in a basin lined with hospital baby blankets. The nurses carefully put his basin in a refrigerator as I watch through a tiny glass window in the door.
I want my heart to stop beating.
I'm given Ambien and Percocet when I get back to my room. I've never felt so alone.
My nurse comes in as the Ambien starts to take effect. Kaila, we have another room if you'd like. Down the hall where it's quieter. Would you like to see it?
Yes. I need to be somewhere else.
The walk to my new room is slow, but when I get there I sit on the couch and cry as Jamey and the nurses begin to move my things. Sleep sets in as I sit there. I feel as if I've been sitting alone in this new room for an hour when a hand is placed on my shoulder. Jamey later tells me it was only minutes to move everything. Kaila, would you like to get into bed?
I nod.
Everything goes dark.
Adrenaline hits me at 3am. I am in so much pain, soaked in sweat and shivering.
Where am I?
I keep forgetting. I can't believe I keep forgetting.
Jamey is asleep on a small bed next to me. I try to call out his name but he doesn't answer. I push the call button for my nurse and ask for more pain medication. Anything to dull the pain, please. Whatever you can give me.
She comes in and my teeth are chattering to the point it hurts. I'm shaking uncontrollably. I feel warm blankets being piled on me. It helps a little.
And then arms are around me. Holding me. I'm being held by a stranger in the middle of the night.
It's exactly what I need.
Later I am told, You were scared, shaking, and in pain. Bonnie wanted to calm you. You didn't know where you were because we had moved you, so she hugged you to calm you and remind you where you were.
There was no medication to ease the emotional pain that night. No chemical that could make me feel safe and secure. Her embrace did what nothing else could. I don't know how long it lasted and I don't remember falling back asleep.
I do remember waking up the next morning and asking,
Who held me?
I wanted to thank her.
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